


Too Far Gone

by EtLaBete



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arc Reactor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Self-Harm, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtLaBete/pseuds/EtLaBete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Thanos threat has been dealt with, but Loki still suffers lingering side-effects of the Titan's control. Tony offers his help. He doesn't realize how far it will go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I would write any more FrostIron. HA.

It's been three months since ships exploded in the sky and inhabitants of realms Tony didn't even know existed arrived on Earth to defend the galaxy. The Avengers almost died at the hands of an alien army lead by a power hungry psychopath— again— but somehow survived—again— and Tony's not so much of an egotistical prick that he isn't thankful even though he sometimes wonders why the hell he agreed to be involved in any of this in the first place.

He's happy though— was happy— that things settled down. Peace and quiet were never his thing until aliens, and he's pretty sure everyone else is just as ready for a vacation. Even their normal adversaries are on hiatus, because who in their right mind would fuck around on the Avengers' turf after they defeated a Titan known for eradicating entire planets for fun?

Loki, that's who.

Tony hasn't had to fire his repulsors, not yet. He's only been on the scene for a few minutes and the god hasn't killed anyone even though he's glowing like a goddamned beacon in the darkening sky, power barely contained. They aren't really sure what's going on, because Loki hasn't moved. He just stands there, body as tense as a whipcord with energy radiating off of him in visible waves.

It's obvious, at least to Tony, that Loki is struggling, and he doesn't know how long it will be before the god bursts. The strain is there in the dark circles beneath his eyes, in the gaunt paleness that's worse than usual, in the way he's all sharp angles and wild rage. The ragged look is familiar in a bad way. The god's about as put together as he was the first time he showed up on Earth, and that didn't go well for anyone involved.

"So, do we have an idea on what the hell's going on?" Tony asks nonchalantly over the comms.

Before anyone can respond, he hears the thumping of the Hulk's feet hitting concrete in the distance, and he sees the moment when Loki hears it, too. Fear flashes across the god's face, but he stands his ground, digging his heels into the rooftop. If anything, he grows brighter.

No one moves except for Thor, who lands with a crunch of concrete on the roof opposite Loki and advances while swinging Mjolnir. The sky closes in fast, dark, swirling cloud cover blocking out the last of the dying sunlight. Their comms crackle, and the thunder booms so loudly Tony can feel it in his bones. Lightning is sparking out of the hammer and Thor's got that set to his jaw, the set that they only ever see when Loki is involved.

"Are we sure it's a good idea to send in brother dearest when Loki's obviously having a temper tantrum?" Tony asks.

"Get ready to move if it goes south," Steve orders.

"It always goes south with these two, Cap," Tony huffs, but he doesn't think anyone can hear him over the crackle of static.

"Loki," the Thunder calls, "what is it you are doing? You must stop this, I beg of you, before someone is injured."

"I cannot," Loki snarls back, his body incandescent, and Tony's close enough that he hears it. He hears the breaking, the way the words are barely held together. It's not will not. It's cannot.

"You must," Thor says, and that's the wrong thing, because Loki's features contort from painful determination to complete and utter rage.

Tony's pretty sure if things continue with Thor as head of the welcome committee, it's going to get ugly, especially if Loki's feeling vulnerable, so Tony flies forward before Thor can respond, jetting past the Thunder God. He lands a few feet away from Loki and orders, "JARVIS, mute the fucking comms" as the Avengers start yelling at him all at once to retreat. He can't help but let out the breath he's holding when Thor slows the hammer's momentum and the storm subsides. Tony really didn't want to get electrocuted today.

Loki backs up on the roof, taking several long, wobbly steps away from him. Oh, yeah, Tony thinks. Definitely don't want Thor at the front of the pack when the goddamned God of Mischief and Lies is backing away from a man in a tin can.

"Man of Iron," Loki hisses, hands fisted at his sides. Light is pouring out from between his fingers, neon green and poisonous. "Do you approach me to see if you can escape the Lady Death once again? The odds, so far, have been quite in your favor."

Tony lifts his faceplate and raises a brow. "I'm glad you're still lucid enough to make jokes about creepy shit."

Loki's lips twitch, and Tony thinks he might actually be trying to smile.

"Seriously, though," he continues, "what's going on? Tell us what to do. I can tell you're not one-hundred percent in control here."

Loki jerks, startled, and then his eyes glint dangerously. "You can do nothing, you stupid mortal. Step away before I can control it no longer."

"First," Tony says, raising one finger, "I applied some fun new anti-magic polymers to the suit after you let me scan you to prepare for the whole Thanos thing, so try me, and two, you're about to go nuclear in the middle of Manhattan. I can't let that happen, and I don't think you want that to happen, so stop being stubborn and tell me how to help you. You didn't show up in the middle of the goddamned city to explode."

Loki laughs brokenly. "He is dead, and still the grip he held on me remains. There is nothing you can do, Stark, even with your mortal genius."

There it is, the brief, almost not-there tremble of Loki's lower lip. Tony's heart is in his throat, but he swallows it down. He's definitely in over his head, except he can't turn back, not now. He knows that look, still sees that look, sometimes, when he goes to the splash water on his face in the middle of the night after dreams filled with desert, blood, smoke, and fear.

"You just admitted I was a genius," Tony says brightly, then takes a cautious step forward. "Don't be stubborn. Let me help you. I know the details of the deal you made with Asgard. I know they'll kill you this time, even if you don't mean to do it, instead of putting you in a cage because everyone knows you'd find a way out. You can't win, and I don't support torture and execution, so let me help." He spreads his arms slightly, palms up, and adds, "I want to help you."

For a millisecond, Loki looks like he might cry, but he pulls his lips away from his teeth instead. "Why would you want to help me?" he sneers. "Do you think me like you, Stark? Do you think I have changed because of my hand in the Titan's death? Do not fool yourself. It was for my benefit, nothing more."

"I'm going to call bullshit, but we can argue that later. Right now, you need to tell me what to do to power you down."

Loki stamps his foot and snarls, "You cannot help me!"

"Listen, Princess," Tony says, trying to keep his voice level, trying not to show how terrified he is of both Loki and his own stupidity. "Why don't you power back down to regular Saiyan mode and we can talk this over. You know I'm good for it. You've seen me work."

Loki's nostrils flare and some color tinges his cheeks. "Your ego floors me. The weapon was my doing."

"I built it."

Loki's eyes widen. "With my aid!"

Tony offers him a winning PR smile. "Still built it."

"You are insufferable," Loki snaps.

Tony goes for it, because he thinks the only way he's gonna break down the walls Loki has up is with surprise. "What did Thanos do you to?"

Loki's face contorts and falls, the muscles in his jaw working overtime as he struggles to stop his lips from quivering. Tony feels a horrible pang of guilt and commiseration at the expression he knows all too well. Except he and Loki are different in a very particular way. Tony deals with feelings by locking himself in his lab and depriving himself of sleep until someone drags him to bed. Loki's a goddamned bomb waiting to self destruct, and right now, his body begins to vibrate, power pulsating off of him in violent waves. The glow emanating from his skin flickers, stutters, and Loki's grits his teeth in a way that makes Tony grimace.

"I cannot control it," Loki breathes out, and then his eyes flare periwinkle blue, Pepper's favorite color. There's blood dripping out of his ears, streaking down his cheeks like red war paint, leaking from his nose, and the veins in his forehead and neck are bulging and pulsing with the strain. The god closes his eyes for a brief moment, head thrown back as he gasps against the energy surge.

"Comms on," Tony snaps, then fires up his repulsers to full power. "Fire in the hole!" he yells over the multitude of voices barraging his ear drum as he charges the god.

Loki's eyes open and Tony watches surprise flicker across his face just before he reaches him. Then he ducks his head, wraps his metal arms around the wiry form, and holds on for dear life as he shoots upwards and away from the New York skyline because he might survive Loki's self destruct mode, but no one else will. He's scanned the god. He knows what he's made of.

Loki gasps, and Tony thinks he hears his name on the strangled breath. He hears Thor shout, too, call for him to stop, and the wind picks up, signaling the Thunderer's pursuit, but then everything goes black and Tony hears absolutely nothing except the thrum of his pulse in his ears. He feels lightheaded and heavy all at the same time, and coldness rushes through him despite the suit's protection.

When the blackness recedes, he feels solid ground collapsing under the weight of the suit and hears the sound of wood snapping. He almost falls, but managed to keep himself upright. It takes him a moment to realize that he's still got his arms wrapped around Loki, and Loki's holding onto him just as tightly. He thinks the suit might be slightly dented from the god's strength.

"Did you just teleport me?" Tony grunts, dizziness making the already blurry room spin. "I might puke."

Loki just groans and Tony slowly loosens his metal embrace. Loki looks down at him for a moment, eyes green and face a sickly gray, then he falls to his knees, his fingers digging into the joints of the suit before one hand splays over the arc reactor's casing. Tony just stands there, wide-eyed, completely stunned, and terrified the god is going to smash the glass and shred his reactor to pieces.

Instead Loki's entire body shudders and he sags. "It is so quiet," he rasps, and then leans forward, forehead pressed to the suit just below the reactor. "So quiet at last."

Tony's chest feels tight, and he doesn't dare push Loki away. He just stands there, settles one gauntleted hand on the god's sweat-slicked hair, and waits.

His vision clears and the nausea abates, so he looks around. They're in some chic loft, and Tony assumes it's where Loki calls home. A lamp on the far sir of the room casts a comfortable orange glow. The place smells like dust, ink, and old paper. The walls are lined with shelves and bookcases, and each one is filled. Some of the books he recognizes, classics bound in leather covers. Some he doesn't, spines titled in languages he doesn't understand or recognize. There are several pieces of furniture— a coffee table, some end tables, a comfortable looking, fabric couch— but there isn't a television, no sign of technology anywhere except for some kitchen appliances and a record player.

"Of course you'd have a record player," Tony mumbles, then freezes as Loki cranes his head to look up at him.

There's a bit more color in Loki's face and his eyes are glassy and green, incredibly green. Tony stares for a few seconds before he shakes himself out of it, and by then, Loki's judgmental frown is back, curling his thin lips downward. He raises a brow and then slowly stands without breaking eye contact.

"Feeling better?" Tony asks with a weak grin.

"Tell me what it is," Loki says quietly and starts to reach for Tony, but then pulls back. "The glowing light in your chest."

Tony blinks and the smile falls away. "It's an arc reactor. You already knew that."

"What use is it? I know it is not merely to power your rudimentary suit."

Tony takes a step back, head cocked to the side. "You think insulting me is going to make me answer your questions? And while we're on the subject, why so many questions all of a sudden?"

Some of the intensity drains from Loki's face. He waves his hand and his armor disappears, replaced by a pair of black slacks and a gray, button-down shirt. The sweat on his skin is gone, but his hair is still wild, hanging around his gaunt face in dark waves. With a small sigh, he steps around Tony and settles down on the sofa, stretching his long limbs and allowing his head to lull back on the cushions.

Tony just stares at him. He's seen Loki in normal clothing a few times, but it still screws with his head the same way it does when Thor and Steve are able to follow along with conversations involving 21st century pop culture. Tony likes the mindfuck, though, and really, Loki has great taste in clothing. Tony appreciates that. And what it hints at because, let's face it, being attracted to the God of Mischief and Lies isn't the worst thing he's ever done.

Loki rolls his eyes, like he knows what Tony's thinking, and gestures to the open spot on the sofa next to him. "I will not hurt you, Tony Stark. Remove your armor and sit. We may speak then."

Tony raises a brow. "Forgive me if I'm not totally on board considering less than an hour ago, you were ready to go supernova."

"That moment has passed," Loki replies, and his gaze slides down to the arc reactor.

"What was that moment, exactly?" Tony asks, watching Loki watch the reactor, and the small voice in his head tells him it's probably a bad idea to take off the suit when a god who could kill him in an instant is focused on the tech in his chest keeping him alive.

Unfortunately, he's never listened to that voice, to the displeasure of everyone who's ever known him, so he hits the catch and his armor folds back, precise and quiet, until it sits in a metal cube on the floor. Tony rolls his shoulders and neck, then plops on the couch next to Loki with enough force to jostle the god.

"So," he says, "the moment. Let's talk about it."

Loki turns so he's facing Tony, eyes narrowed. Tony doesn't think Loki will answer truthfully, but then he says, "That moment occurred due to a disturbance with my magic."

"No, please, be more vague," he snarks, because it's better than the startled surprise. He doesn't need the god feeling more vulnerable than he already is.

Loki's eyes narrow all the same. "The Titan is dead, but the anchors he placed in my mind to keep me reigned in are still present. I cannot remove them, not on my own, and the effect of their existence is catalyzing. I cannot control the magic once it flares, and it will continue to do so."

"Okay, okay, back up," Tony says and leans closer to Loki. "What do you mean by anchors?"

"Think of your fishing lures, the complicated pieces with many spines." Loki licks his lips. "Imagine something similar latching to your mind. Much like with a fish, the extraction, if not done precisely and carefully, will cause unparalleled damage. It is a form of mental and magical torture, and it is meant to kill me, over time, but not before damage, both internal and external, is wrought."

"So it's a kill switch."

The muscles in Loki's jaw twitch. "In a sense." He pauses, and something dark flashes through his eyes that not only makes ice trickle down Tony's spine, but also makes heat curl in his belly because Tony is insane.

The god douses that fire easily, though.

"Think of it like the metal shards in your chest," Loki murmurs. "You have escaped Hel, but the shrapnel remains, and it will kill you regardless."

Tony's mouth goes dry. The people close to him, the people he cares about, the people he would kill for, barely know the details. Despite that, he's not surprised that Loki knows— the Trickster doesn't seem like the type not to have intimate knowledge of his enemies. Tony knows that the god is probably just trying to put them on a level playing field, but it still makes his stomach churn. He tries not to show it. He isn't sure if it works because he sees something cause a crease to form between Loki's brows.

He clears his throat. "So you know about my broken heart. Which makes me wonder why you're asking me questions about the reactor when you already know the answer."

"I have a vague notion of what it does," Loki says with a nonchalant shrug, but he's watching Tony carefully from beneath his dark lashes.

Tony places his hands on the cushion between them and leans in, crowds the god's space so he can't look away. "Don't bullshit me."

"I am sure you've figured it out, Mr. Stark, in the last sixty seconds," Loki says smoothly.

"Yeah, I have-- genius, hello-- but I want you to say why you need it."

Loki's lips curl in a combination of a sneer and a smile. "I was under the impression that you prefer listening to yourself speak."

Tony bats his lashes. "But your voice is so sultry."

Loki stands suddenly, propelling himself off the couch, and Tony jerks backwards, nearly biting his tongue off. He opens his mouth to snark, to snap, but he catches a glimpse of Loki's face behind the curtain of black hair. Loki looks wild and afraid, and fuck, but Tony knows that look a little bit too well.

"You said it was quiet," he ventures gently instead. "I remember the day of the invasion, you tried to use the glowstick of destiny on me, but it didn't work with the reactor. It cuts off the magic somehow, I assume? Helps with the mental fishing hooks?"

Loki stops moving, entire body stiff, but he nods, one jerky head movement.

"If you wanted to move in, sweetie, you could have just said so."

The look Loki throws over his shoulder is enough to kill.

"You can have your own room," Tony offers with a grin.

Loki snorts and stops at the window. He rests his hands against the sill and leans forward, forehead almost touching the glass. He doesn't say anything, but Tony knows he's waiting, and he's pretty sure the god expects to be disappointed by Tony's answer. For all intents and purposes, Tony has every right to say no. Sure, he helped Tony build the giant, awesome laser gun that destroyed Thanos. Sure, he's been quiet and relatively mischief free since settling down in his book-infested loft. Sure, when the titles of villains and heroes are stripped off, Tony kind of likes Thor's seriously screwed up not-brother because he's intelligent, snarky, and holds about ten times more baggage than Tony on his this shoulders. None of that excuses what he did the first time around, though. It doesn't erase the dreams Tony still has of the void and falling through it, or Clint's bitterness and self doubt, or any of the other scars left behind on only people Tony can call family, so he opens his mouth to tell Loki to fuck off.

"You look tired, Princess," he says instead. "I'm in. You want me to make you one, right?"

Loki's shoulders hunch forward and he bows his head, and Tony thinks that if he could see Loki's face behind all that hair, he would look incredibly and painfully human.

"I do have a question."

Loki nods. "What is the question?"

"Could they help you in Asgard?"

Loki stiffens again, straightens, and turns to look at him. Tony watches the pieces of his armor fall back into place until his face is a perfect mask of calm indifference. "It is unlikely. I am one of the more powerful sorcerers of Asgard, but even my magic is incapable." He touches his lower lip thoughtfully. "Though, at the very least, they would be able to call favors upon other sorcerers of the galaxy to help remove them without damaging my mind much."

"So why not get their help?"

Loki smirks and pins Tony with a tired look. "I am not very much a diplomat, if you have not noticed."

Tony stands and rocks back on his heels. "Maybe this is gonna sound crazy, but you could go to Asgard, you know. And ask. For their help." Loki looks like he might tear the arc reactor out of Tony's chest, so he holds up his hands and shakes his head. "Hey, just wait a second. Don't get me wrong, I'll happily make you your very own. I'm still going to help you. The thing is, it's just a band-aid for your problem, right? Its not gonna get rid of the hooks, just quiet them down, right? Do you know the longterm side effects, if there are any? The damage could still be compounding even—"

"I will ask the Allfather for no favors," Loki interrupts quietly, and there's so much venom, so much hurt in those few words that Tony doesn't push it. He can't. He feels a little sick, actually, because it just makes him relive his own daddy issues and he hates that.

"I get it," he says, and then, "It's late, and I really need to head back before they all think I'm dead," because he always deals well with feelings.

Loki just nods, a jerky little movement that betrays his otherwise casual stance. Tony turns away, but before he manages to press the button on his wrist sensor, Loki places a hand on his shoulder. Tony stiffens. He didn't even hear the fucking guy move.

"My thanks," Loki murmurs and squeezes gently.

It's a very Thor-esque gesture— touching, always touching, no personal space ever—but Tony doesn't say it. Especially because he doesn't get the good kind of chills when Thor does it. He just nods and pats Loki's hand. "No problem, Dasher."

Loki makes an amused sound in the back of his throat. "I have not heard that one before."

"I'm trying to get creative," Tony says, and then isn't sure what else to say, so they stand there awkwardly, still touching, until Loki finally steps back, his fingers trailing down Tony's shoulder before falling away.

Tony ignores the heat that creeps through him and jabs his thumb against the wrist sensor, glad for the creak of metal hinges to disrupt the otherwise uncomfortable silence. When he's fully suited up, he turns back to Loki and flicks up the faceplate. "If you think you're going to explode before we figure things out, just come over. We'll watch a movie or something. You know, be friends even what catastrophic disasters aren't threatening either of us."

Loki blinks, his lips parted in surprise, and barely shakes it off with enough time to wave goodbye as Tony climbs out of his living room window and takes to the air. He's considering the fact that he's going to need to explain to the Avengers that he agreed to give really important technology to their former enemy when JARVIS's comfortingly monotone voice sounds in his ears.

"You have twenty-six messages, Sir. Would you like me to play them?"

Tony sighs. "Let me guess, they're all from Fury and his band of Merry Men."

"That would be correct, Sir."

"Delete them, Jarv."

"Already done, Sir." A pause, and then, "Should I alert the Avengers of your impending return to Headquarters?"

"You make it sound like the apocalypse. Yeah, let's just get it over with."

Tony lands on the roof and the suit immediately starts to fold back. When he steps out of the boots, he heads for the glass doors, the bar in his crosshairs. He's known for doing risky things, but this will probably take the cake, and he's going to need a drink or seven to explain it to his team. The details of arc technology are still kept under tight wraps because Tony knows the devastation it could cause if placed in the wrong hands. He's pretty sure Loki could potentially count as the wrong hands, so when he reaches the bar, he opts to pour himself a double to start. He's able to gulp down about half the glass before the elevator dings and Steve steps out.

"Tony!" Steve snaps, disapproving-father-face already in place. "We've been worried sick."

"I didn't even miss curfew!" Tony says and gestures to the clock on the wall. "Not even midnight. My carriage hasn't turned into a pumpkin yet."

Steve just stares at him for a moment and then says, slowly, "You went radio silent. For over two hours. After disappearing with Loki."

"Nothing happened. We used protection." He grins when Steve blanches and tosses back the rest of his whiskey. "Seriously, lighten up. Everything is fine. Want a drink?"

"No, Tony, I don't want a drink."

He's pouring himself another when the elevator dings again and the rest of the team arrives. Tony doesn't even get a chance to speak before Thor storms towards him and plants both hands on the bar so firmly that the marble cracks.

"My brother, how does he fair?" the Thunderer demands, mouth set in a firm line.

"He's fine, he's fine." Tony finishes his drink and contemplates refilling his glass again, but Steve grabs the bottle. "Cap, seriously. I'm gonna need that. We're all gonna need that."

"That doesn't sound good," Clint says.

"It's not as bad as you think."

They all just stare at him, and Steve doesn't give back the bottle, so Tony just inhales and goes for it, rattling off everything from his gut instinct when Loki was going supernova on the roof to their enlightening conversation in Loki's loft. Thor's expression ranges from frustrated to shocked to utterly devastated. He doesn't speak, though. No one does. No one interrupts Tony, not like they normally do when he goes on one of his long-winded rants. They just let him talk.

"And so that's how I partnered with the God of Mischief, the end." Tony makes a grabby motion for the bottle and Steve finally sets it back on the bar. Tony pours himself another glass and downs it in one swallow, hissing at the burn.

"So let me get this straight," Natasha says slowly. Neither her voice or face betray anything. "You promised an arc reactor to the god who freely admitted that he was suffering from the effects of some kind of mind control?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Tony asks, throwing his hands in the air. "It's that or let him lose it, and I for one don't want to clean him off the sidewalk along with whoever he takes with him."

"We could send him back to Asgard," Clint says. "If they can fix him, let's send him back. He doesn't belong here anyway. He's a liability, especially if he's a fucking time bomb now."

Tony just shrugs. "He wouldn't go. He'd kill us all, truce or not, before he let us take him back there. And maybe I'm crazy for thinking this, but he belongs here as much as any of us do at this point. Didn't you know Manhattan's become the up and coming place of business for reformed assholes? We've all got skeletons in the closet and a lot of blood on our hands."

Natasha just raises her brows. Tony gives himself a mental high five. Natasha's eyebrows are the most expressive part of her assassiny face, and that was definitely a movement of agreement.

"Oh, no," Clint says, stepping forward. He looks pissed, really pissed. Tony's glad there's a bar between them and that the archer forgot his arrows. "You do not get to put him in league with the rest of us."

Bruce scratches his chin. "Why not? Tony's got a point."

"I've always got a point," Tony adds quickly, but Clint's voice carries over him.

"He mind controlled me and tried to take over the Earth. He almost killed us all. It took months to repair the damage he caused."

Tony just stares for a moment. "Do you not see the parallel to your situation?"

Clint looks like he might dive across the bar. Bruce steps between them and mouths, Not the best route, Tony before he turns back to Clint.

"He's definitely guilty," Bruce states. "I'm not trying to say he's absolved, but we're all guilty, some of us more than others. Intentions change and so do goals. Loki's been harmless the last few months, spare tonight, and he helped us defeat a very real threat before that."

"A threat that he lead to our doorstep!" Clint all but snarls.

Steve sighs like the fate of the universe is resting on his shoulders. "I understand your point of view and agree with you, but Bruce is right. We wouldn't have been able to take Thanos on without Loki and his call to arms."

"The casualty count was low when he invaded."

Clint turns and glares at Natasha. "Tasha, seriously? You're siding with them?"

"I'm not taking sides, I'm just stating facts." She tilts her head and purses her lips. "We were supposed to kill each other once. People can change for the right reasons. They don't have to be good reasons."

Tony leans against the bar and watches the debate flare. He notices that Thor is doing the same, studying his comrades while they argue over where his psychotic, magic-wielding brother belongs in their merry band of heroes. He meets Tony's eyes once and offers this small, discreet nod, and even though he isn't smiling or giving Tony thumb's up, the approval is written all of his face, and Tony has to look away so he doesn't grin.

"Tony."

Steve, arms crossed and face stern, is giving him that look. He hates this look. It reminds him of his father. Tony has to stop himself from sticking his tongue out.

"If this plan of yours goes south, it's on you. Do you understand? You're going to take responsibility since you decided to make the decision before consulting with your team."

Tony's first instinct is to argue that fuck, no, he isn't taking responsibility. He doesn't want the responsibility of a half-crazed god wielding unstable magic. He hates magic. He doesn't believe in gods. He can barely take care of himself without Pepper's guidance and Rhodey's occasionally violent reality checks. He's got a company, and hero duties, and a workshop. He's not the right man for the job.

But then thinks back to Loki's expression, and he just nods and offers Steve a little salute. "Yes, Captain."

Steve blinks in surprise, lips parted, like he didn't expect Tony to just agree. "Okay," he says, almost stutters. "Well, that's good, then." He pauses. "You know I'm going to have to brief Fury, Tony."

Tony gestures noncommittally. "Of course you do, Cap. I'd expect nothing less."

There's an awkward silence, and then Clint turns on his heels and stalks back towards the elevator. The others take that as their cue to disperse, and Tony isn't surprised when he's left alone with Thor.

"You have done a service for my brother today, Tony Stark," Thor says, tracing the cracks in the bar top counter. "Many would not see past Loki's deeds and offer him help in a time of need."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think I'd have been half as inclined to help if he wasn't a ticking time bomb."

Thor nods. "I understand, and still I am grateful. You have been my only ally, Tony Stark, since my brother's escape from Asgard. Even when he offered his aid against the Mad Titan, the others would not consider him, though you did not suffer from some the same reservations."

Tony shrugs. "I don't usually see things in black and white." And it's true. Sure, heroes, villains, good, evil. They all have a place. But he doesn't think anyone is purely good or evil.

Except Steve. The judicious bastard.

"Loki never did, either," Thor replies with a little smile and claps Tony on the shoulder. "I thank you, Tony Stark. Please inform me if you are in need of aid."

"Will do, big guy," Tony says.

Thor leaves, too, and then Tony's left alone, so he drinks some more and wonders what the fuck he's doing, then he stumbles to bed because he's got a travel-sized arc reactor to make in the morning.


	2. 2

Tony starts work on the miniaturized reactor almost immediately because he doesn't want to take any chances. He doesn't know how much control Loki has, and he doesn't know how long it will take before the god loses it again, so Tony opts to just get it done and save them all the trouble of waiting for the eventual big bang of a god blowing up in the middle of the city.

The first few days, no one comes down into his lab, not that anyone normally bothers him unless it's Bruce or Steve demanding he eat or sleep or drink water instead of whiskey. Clint is avoiding him like the plague, but the others are acting normal enough. Steve is still pissed off—they all seem to be a bit miffed, actually— and Tony gets it, so he doesn't let it bother him too much. He's used to being the one to wedge sharp objects into their team comp. He had to make a tough call, and it's quite possible it was the wrong one, but he can't change it now.

And he doesn't think he'll end up regretting it. He hopes he won't.

He's running into trouble making the reactor any smaller than the one in his chest, though, and it's pissing him off. The components are intricate and the metal wiring snaps at the drop of a pin if he isn't careful, so even though his hands are steady and his mind is focused, he isn't sure if he's going to be able to muster the patience to complete it without tearing his hair out.

On the fourth day, when his frustration is reaching critical mass, the doors to the workshop whirr open and Pepper Potts walks in with a huge stack of papers and a look that could kill lesser men.

"Good morn— wait, what time is it?" Tony asks brightly as he sets his work down.

Pepper licks her lips like a cheetah ready to pounce. _Yeah_ , Tony thinks, _I'm in deep shit_.

"When was the last time you went upstairs?" she demands.

"Well, Pep, that depends on what day it is."

Pepper closes her eyes and takes in a slow, deep breath. "I even put the meeting in your personal calendar, Tony," she says calmly and sets the stack of folders on the nearest worktable. "With a reminder, Tony. A reminder."

"I have direct orders to delete any events you add to Sir's personal calendar, Ms. Potts," JARVIS states.

Pepper's nostrils flare and Tony actually takes a step back. "Jarv, seriously?" he hisses, then says to Pepper, "Listen—"

"Tony, I am trying to keep your company running," she snaps, shoulders jerking up and then down again when she sighs. "You're an adult. You save the world. Regularly. I don't understand why this is so hard for you."

He holds out his hands, palms forward, and tries not to laugh because he's pretty sure he used the posture with Loki. "I'm kind of in the middle of a thing, Pep. You know, the kind that saves the world."

She raises a brow in a way that says, _my ass you are_.

"I'm being serious," he whines and points at his occupied worktable. "I have really important things to do so no one blows up."

"Are you saying my things aren't important?" she grinds out.

He shakes his head vigorously. "No. No no no that is absolutely not what I'm saying."

"Please just read through the reports," she says. "I need to be able to present the approved funding to the board on Friday."

"I'll have it for you by Thursday—"

Pepper picks up the stack of folders and sets it on his worktable with a thump that makes some of the tools rattle. "No," she states stonily. "You're going to do it now. Right now. While I watch. I am not chancing it, and you're only twelve percent reliable at the best of times."

"This is kinkier than your normal behavior. Also, aren't I still the boss? Don't _I_ pay _you_?" he asks, but he takes the pen she offers and turns to the stack with a huff. "And you're throwing my jokes back at me. I probably had them copyrighted. You should be careful. I have expensive lawyers."

Pepper rolls her eyes and starts walking around the workshop, her heels clicking against the concrete. He watches her for a moment, long limbs and long hair, all grace as she reaches out to tap metal with her perfectly manicured nails. Tony forces himself to look away because he's fine— Tony Stark is always fine— except for the quiet moments when he sees Pepper in all her glory and he realizes how very alone he is. Sure, he has the Avengers, all of them piled into his tower like some special season of Real World. He never wanted it, kind of thought he would hate it, actually. Except he doesn't. They all have their own floors and their own lives outside of their Avengers duties, but at least once a week they all manage to converge in the common area for movies or drinks or cards. There are no questions, no expectations— just a bunch of superheroes, usually battered and bruised and exhausted, enjoying the way-too-strong margaritas Clint likes to concoct.

But it isn't the same. He tries not to admit that very often— or ever, in fact— but sometimes, just sometimes, he can't control it. Yeah, things are pretty normal between him and Pepper, but that isn't the same, either. It was awkward at first when they decided to call it quits— when Pepper decided to call it quits— just before the second big alien invasion. The hurt is mostly gone and Tony's had enough time to think it over and realize that he understands, kind of in the way he understands why the team is pissed at him now. He has priorities that transcend normalcy because he's a selfish prick most of the time. Pepper enjoys order, and Tony is a wild card. One day he's dressed to the nines for a business meeting, and a few days later he's covered in grease with a singed beard and maybe some third degree burns. One day he's alive, and the next he might be almost dead. Pepper is tough, one of the toughest people he knows, but it's not something she can handle, not forever, and Tony doesn't plan to let that side of himself go, so he's got to let the second best thing go.

When he thinks about it that way, he's glad he didn't fight to keep her. Pepper Potts is entirely too good for him.

Tony loses himself in the lawyer lingo because it's somehow less painful than losing himself in thoughts about Pepper, and he's about a quarter of the way through the Pile of Death when a violent shiver courses through him. He rubs at his bare arms, trying to warm away the goose bumps, and looks up. Pepper has her arms crossed over her chest and is puckering her lips, blowing ribbons of smoky breath in front of her. If she didn't look slightly terrified, it would have been cute.

"Tony?" she questions slowly, staring at her breath with wide eyes.

Tony's mind is working a mile a minute to figure it out, but instead of saying that, he blurts out, "I just want to make Frozen jokes."

"Tony!" Pepper hisses.

"Jarv, what's going on? Is something off with the HVAC or something?"

"Sir, the systems are all running normally. However, I do believe you have a visitor incoming," JARVIS states.

"A visitor?" Tony asks dumbly, and then there's a flash of green light and Loki is standing— no, swaying— in the middle of his workshop.

Pepper nearly knocks over a table trying to back away. Her hands are fisted, knuckles white, and there's a ruddy tinge in her otherwise pale face. "What is he doing here?" she demands, voice quavering. "Why aren't the alarms going off?"

"Mr. Laufeyson is a registered guest on Sir's list," JARVIS supplies calmly.

Pepper eyes widen and Tony knows he's in deep shit now.

"Tony," she whispers, and even though her voice is level, she's speaking fast and the words are running together. "Is he joking? Is this a joke? Please tell me this is a joke and you do not have a homicidal god on your registered guest list with access to your workshop. Please tell me this is a joke."

Tony is only half listening to her, though. He's watching Loki, who seems disoriented and looks around slowly, head lulling from one side to the other. There's a discomforting laxity to his stance, too, completely defenseless and weak, and that has Tony's blood pumping because he prefers seeing the god angry and fighting. Loki looks like he's given up now. Tony takes a step towards him. His eyes are green, but there are little flecks of blue eating through.

"Loki," he says gently and holds up a hand to silence Pepper when she snaps at him to not be an idiot. "Loki, focus on me."

Loki's eyes roll and he tilts his head to the side, dark, greasy hair falling into his face. His entire body continues to lean, but he rights himself before Tony has to resort to catching him. His gaze meets Tony's, and Tony sees some recognition spark just before the god's face falls and he rasps, "You invited me, did you not? If I needed you."

"Oh, shit, it's bad, isn't it?" Tony murmurs and takes another step forward. "How bad?"

Loki swallows but says nothing. He doesn't need to.

Tony stares at him for a moment, then opens his arms. "Hug?"

He wants to get a laugh out of the god, and he fully expects Loki to scoff at him, to roll his eyes the way Pepper does when he gets too fresh, but Loki doesn't. He moves before Tony can really understand what's happening, and by the time he can, Loki is pressed against him, long arms circled around Tony's waist and body bowed so his head is resting on Tony's shoulder. Tony's immediate response is to bring his hands up and press them against Loki's chest, but he stops himself from pushing the god away. He can feel Loki's heart thudding like a jackhammer through his clothes.

"Do not get any untoward ideas," Loki whispers, and his voice is still scratchy and weak, but there's an edge to it that Tony didn't know he was missing. "I would never deem you worthy to touch if not for these extreme circumstances."

"That's the spirit," Tony monotones sarcastically. "Tear down my confidence even while you're holding me oh so gent— that hurts!"

Loki snorts and loosens his grip.

Tony grunts. "I think you broke my diaphragm."

"At least your spine is still intact," Loki replies with a shrug.

"Tony."

Tony curses under his breath. He totally forgot Pepper was there. Slowly, he pulls back from Loki, who allows it but immediately turns away. He thinks the god probably forgot, as well, and their brief and really confusing snuggling session probably embarrasses Loki more than it does Tony.

"So," Tony says, "remember how I told you I was working on something to save the world? Yeah, he's it."

Pepper just stares at him.

"Listen, Pep—"

"I will take my leave. I apologize for interrupting you," Loki interjects, and Tony can tell by the way the air around Loki ripples that he's drawing power to himself, so he lunges forward and grabs the god's hand. Loki jerks like he's been burned and whirls towards Tony, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

"Oh no," Tony says. "You still look like you're going to lose your shit, and that isn't happening on my watch. We made a deal. Stay here. Movie, remember?"

"You have no sense of self preservation," Loki snarls when he finally shakes off the surprise and rips his hand from Tony's grip.

Tony hums thoughtfully. "That is not the worst thing anyone's ever said about me."

" _Tony_."

They both turn towards Pepper, who's red in the face and looks about as likely to explode as Loki.

"I don't even want an explanation," she finally says. "I'll come back on Thursday. Just have the papers signed."

Tony smiles apologetically, but can't stop himself from joking, "Is a psychotic Norse god all it takes to get you to leave me alone? Because I might ask Loki to move in."

Pepper's eyebrows draw together and she breathes out of her nose the way she does when she wants to say something, but she doesn't. And that's even worse, because Tony knows that look— it's the look that means there will be pain later— so he doesn't try to stop her when she leaves.

"That was uncomfortable," Loki comments lightly and leans against one of his work tables. The second he takes his weight off his feet, his body goes lax, limbs loose and head hanging.

"It's freezing in here, by the way," Tony supplies.

Lok grunts and gives a wave of his hand. The room warms, and Loki looks paler than before.

Tony squints at him. "You look tired. You been sleeping?"

Loki raises a brow.

"You've got very expressive eyebrows."

"And you have quite the active tongue," Loki snarks back.

Tony grins. "Oh, you have no idea."

Loki tilts his head and very blatantly lets his gaze drop away from Tony's face.

"Sir, Captain Rogers is on his way down to the workshop, so I would recommend keeping your clothing on for the time being."

Tony snorts. "Jarv, you're so sassy sometimes."

"I do not wish to interact with your Captain," Loki says and pushes away from the table.

"Oddly enough, you still look just as shitty as you did a few minutes ago when we broached this subject the first time—"

The doors to the lab open and Tony looks away for a second, a goddamned second, and when he looks back, Loki is gone.

"I hate magic," he says and clenches and unclenches his fists, trying to release some of the tension building in his shoulders, but it doesn't work. It actually gets worse when he hears—

"Tony, what's going on? Ms. Potts was livid when she left."

Tony throws his hands in the air. "I give up!"

"When was the last time you slept?" Steve asks with a frown and walks towards the table with his piece-of-shit mini arc reactor. "You're really putting everything you've got into this project. Not that you ever tackle things like a normal human being."

"I'm not sure if you're complimenting me or insulting me. Why do people do that? Also, if that was meant as a comparison to you, it can't count because you're not a normal human being."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Why don't you go get a few minutes of sleep? And not on that futon. You'll hurt your back. You aren't getting any younger."

Steve is fighting a smile and he looks really proud of himself. Tony pins him with a stare. "That's pretty funny coming from the Guinness Book of World Records' oldest man alive."

"Sir, Captain Rogers is actually quite young compared to the current record holder, who is one-hundred and fourteen years of age. Captain Rogers is currently ninety-four years old."

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. "JARVIS, seriously, I am going to decommission you."

"I'm sorry, Sir, I'm afraid you can't do that," JARVIS replies smugly.

A laugh is surprised out of Tony. "You've been talking to Clint, haven't you?"

Steve just looks confused.

"Oh, man, you haven't seen that movie yet?" Tony grabs the stack of folders Pepper left and nods towards the door. "We'll watch it this weekend as long as no aliens try to take over the world. Light's out, I have a nap to take."

Steve follows Tony out the doors and into the elevator. Tony pushes the button to the common floor. They're silent for a few seconds before Steve asks, "Loki was here, wasn't he? That's why Ms. Potts was so worked up?"

Tony gives him a sidelong look, one that says he doesn't want to talk about it, but he knows Steve won't let it go, and he doesn't.

"It's one thing for you to help him, Tony, but you shouldn't be letting him into the tower. How did he even get passed security?"

Tony grits his teeth. He's out of patience after a combination of no sleep, too much caffeine, and not enough food, not to mention the controlling CEO and megalomaniac Asgardian prince who both decided to drop by unannounced. He stares at the panel above the elevator doors and wills it to go faster.

"Tony, seriously, how did he even get in without setting off the alarms?"

He turns towards Steve so quickly it hurts his neck. He's easily half a foot shorter than the super soldier, so Tony has to crane his head back to glare at him properly. "I put him on the guest list, Cap."

Steve blinks, like even he's surprised Tony would be so stupid.

"I know what I'm doing," Tony says.

Grim and disappointed, Steve shakes his head. "What you're doing is asking for trouble."

"You spouted a bunch of lines about how he helped us with Thanos. You changing your tune?"

"My tune was never one that sang approval of a super villain having access to your weapons and research," Steve snaps.

Tony's nostrils flare and he's pretty sure the vein in his forehead is going to pop like an overfilled sausage casing. "So it's okay for him to come here and help me build a laser big enough to put a fucking hole in the moon, but this is out of line? It's okay for him to help us when he feels like it, even though we're on opposite sides, but we can't offer him the same courtesy?"

"He isn't like us—" Steve says, but Tony holds up a hand.

"That's complete bullshit. Romanoff has more in common with Loki than she does any of us. What it comes down to is that he isn't like you. Do you know why that is? Because none of us are like you, Cap. It's great that you have blood on your hands from a war, but killing Nazis is different than what Bruce does when he hulks out, or what Natasha did when she was a Russian spy, or what I did when I threw weapons at the highest bidder."

Steve is wide-eye, mouth open in an 'o' of surprise. "You don't believe any of that."

The elevator dings. Tony turns away from Steve and walks out the door, but not before saying, "Most of us can do this because we have firsthand experience with why monsters need to be stopped. Not because we fought them, but because we were them."

Steve doesn't follow him. Tony's really happy about that because he's fuming and kind of overwhelmed. Even though he knows Steve never means it, he can't help but take some of his righteous bullshit personally because regardless of who Tony is now and all the good he's done and does, skeletons in the closet don't go away, especially for a man who wears his in his chest for everyone to see like a neon _Eat at Joe's_ sign.

He makes his way to the kitchen, glad that no one else is around, and ends up fishing a beer and a leftover burrito out of the fridge. He eats the burrito cold, opens the beer, and heads back to the elevator because it's probably been enough time and Steve has sulked off. He's right, and he rides the elevator up to his suite.

He's nearing his bedroom when JARVIS says, "Sir, I believe I should warn you—"

"Unless the world's ending, mute for now, Jarv. I'm in a mood."

Tony takes a swig of the beer, steps across the threshold to his bedroom, and spits it out in a foamy spray.

"What the fuck," Tony coughs, wiping his face with the back of his hand while clutching Pepper's stack of papers to his chest in an effort not to drop them.

Loki, standing at the window, looks over his shoulder with a smile. "You did entreat me to stay, did you not?"

"How did you get up here?" Tony asks and sets everything on the nearby dresser. "I only gave you security clearance for the lab and the common areas."

Loki's smile turns into a toothy grin. "I do enjoy my secrets."

Tony just stares at him for a moment, then shrugs. "Hey, if you can make it past security, then kudos, I guess."

Loki chuckles and turns back towards the window.

Tony goes into his bathroom to change out of his beer-splattered shirt, and when he comes back, Loki is still there, staring through the glass. He's thinking, Tony can tell, but he can't read the god as well as he'd like, so when he remembers the one time Loki threw him out a window, he decides to stay on the other side of the room. He's muted JARVIS, and while he's able to call his suit to him if he needs to, he'd rather not risk it.

"You're looking better," Tony comments. "Still feeling weak?"

Loki barks out a sharp laugh. "You think me weak?"

Tony grabs his beer. He should have grabbed a six pack. "Dear god, you're worse than Pepper. Don't twist my words around because you're being moody."

The god's eyes flick towards him. "I cannot tell if you are brave or stupid."

"Well, I figure you need me to make you an arc reactor, so I think I'm sat—"

Tony gasps out when his back hits the wall. He drops the bottle, which thuds against the rug and hisses as it spills sudsy beer across the fabric. Tony tries to focus on the hand around his throat and crushing his windpipe, but he always has a hard time focusing on mortal danger when his nineteen-thousand dollar rug is soaking up Clint's shitty light beer.

"That rug," Tony wheezes, because priorities, "is worth a lot of money."

"You are insufferable," Loki snarls, tightening his grip.

Tony can't manage enough air to both breathe and speak, so he decides to breathe. He wraps one hand around Loki's wrist, trying to entreat the god to let him go, but Loki is immovable.

"I could kill you," the god continues, leaning towards Tony. There's a few specs of blue eating through the green of his eyes. "I could kill you and rip the glowing light from your chest. How long would it take you to die, I wonder, before the shards of metal sliced into your arteries and you bled out onto your precious rug."

_He's right_ , Tony thinks as his vision starts to go gray at the edges. Loki could have just torn the reactor out of his chest that day in the loft. Or a number of other times. He wouldn't have been surprised, and really, Tony doesn't think he'd have blamed the god. Loki isn't just angry. He's afraid, really afraid, and not because the endgame is death. Loki's got his mind to lose, and while Tony isn't quite sure how all of their similarities line up, he knows that he'd rather slit his own wrists than risk losing his mind, losing his self control.

"Three days, four tops," Tony rasps, words barely audible.

Loki's face contorts with angry confusion. "What?"

The god loosens his grips just enough for Tony to suck in a decent breath. He ignores the burning in his chest and says, voice cracking, "Three, four days until the shrapnel kills me."

" _What?_ " Loki repeats on a growl.

"I mean, if you want to take it now, I'd have time to make another one. Except I usually have a few spares lying around. I thought I'd make you one that was more, I dunno, portable without a hole in your chest to carry it around, but you're David Copperfield, so you'd probably just hide it up your magical sleeve with a fucking rabbit or something—"

Loki lets him go so suddenly that Tony actually stumbles, most of his weight having been supported by the god. He plants his shaking hands against the wall and coughs so hard he sees red, then rubs at his throat, still heaving in breaths like he almost drowned.

"You would tell me such important information?" Loki demands, standing stiffly a few feet away. His fingers curl into white-knuckled fists, his pupils dilate and constrict rapidly, and golden flecks of magical energy are seeping out of him and churning like a whirlwind. "You would tell me such important information when it is obvious that my mind is not my own? Why give me more reason to tear the blasted thing from your chest?"

"I'm making a point," Tony manages. He doesn't hesitate to make eye contact. "You didn't do it. You didn't tear it out. That means you're still in control. It will be okay."

The blue flecks in the god's irises are there one second and gone the next, and the expression on Loki's face makes Tony's heart fumble around in his chest. He looks rendered opened. Heavy breaths, eyebrows drawn together, eyes glittering unnaturally in the golden light. Like it's the first time anyone's ever told him it will be all right.

"Hey," Tony says gently, and takes a few small steps forward. "Hey, it's okay. Seriously."

Loki stares at him like he's grown another head. He licks his lips and swallows. The magic dies down, only slightly, and then before Tony can even process the movement, Loki is in front of him. The god cups his face, fingertips digging into Tony's cheekbones, and for a second, Tony isn't sure if Loki is going to kiss him or break his neck.

"I find myself surprised time and time again by you," Loki breathes. "You toss about such a flippant facade, express such a reckless abandon for your life despite being one of the most intelligent mortals on the planet, and yet behind the metal exterior you so often don, you are as gentle and caring as a maiden."

"I'm sorry," Tony says gruffly. "Are you dissing me because I have _feelings_?"

Loki leans forward, the tip of his nose just barely touching Tony's, and he murmurs, "You make me want to tear you apart, Tony Stark."

Tony's man enough to admit when his knees feel a bit weak. He's about to throw caution to the wind and grind himself against Loki's thigh to show the god what he makes him want to do, but Loki takes a step back.

"I don't do feelings often," Tony says to cover up the sexual tension that's suddenly tangible enough to cut with a knife. He's pretty sure Loki's just fucking with him— God of Mischief, _hello_ — but Tony's turned on, and he's not about to make himself more laughable. "So consider yourself one of the lucky few."

"I will," Loki says with a quirk to his lips that shows exactly how much he doesn't believe Tony, but the way he says it makes Tony think Loki's covering up just as much as he is. It makes him feel slightly better about the whole situation.

Tony clears his throat and nods towards the stack of folders on his dresser. "Well, you interrupted business mode earlier, so I should probably get these done before I forget and Pepper skins me alive."

Loki doesn't say anything, just walks up to Tony and places his hand on the top of the pile. Chromatic green light flares beneath his palm for a split second before it sinks through the paper. Loki smiles.

"It is the least I can do," he says quietly, and then he disappears in the same flash of light.

Tony isn't surprised, when he flips through the stack, that every signature is in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the support! It means so much to me, and it's incredibly motivating. :)
> 
> Also, in case you're interested, [here's a link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mn3F1gt71QA) to the song that inspired this fic.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I wanted to post this a few weeks ago, but between trying to bang out my FrostIron Fest submission, putting together a Thanksgiving tidbit, and a few fights with bronchitis (spoiler alert: I won), I finally got the chapter done! I'm... a bit at adds with how it turned out-- the chapter is a bit angsty-- but I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Also, trigger warning, just in case: there is evidence in this chapter of self-harm.

Tony holds up the reactor, if he can even call it that anymore. It's almost like an amulet now, some oddly beautiful trinket he didn't know he was capable of making. He's creative, yes, and he never thought the task was beyond him even when he wanted to pull his hair out, but Tony Stark makes sexy things. Innovative things. Dangerous things. He doesn't make beautiful.

Except now he does.

The core of the reactor, glowing a crystalline blue, sits in a shallow curve of silver that hides all of the intricacies that turned Tony into an insomniac. It's only about the diameter of a silver dollar, and the piece itself weighs nothing compared to the larger version in his chest. Tony considered several options for making it more portable, including turning it into a pocket watch or a locket, but in the end, he just connected it to a thin, silver chain. He doesn't want the affects of the reactor to be inhibited by too much metal, if that's even possible, and this way, it's easy to wear, easy to hide.

He's damned proud of himself, really.

The completion of it is perfectly timed, too. After his first visit to the workshop and then Tony's suite, Loki started appearing whenever he saw fit to. Tony didn't really mind. He liked to watch Loki walk through the workshop. The god touched things like Pepper touched them, long fingers grazing sleek metal, but there was a different look in his eyes. Pepper appreciated Tony's work. Loki devoured it. He never did more than ask a handful of questions, but Tony could see it, the cogs turning furiously, his thoughts far away, possibly even farther than Tony's could go because Tony hadn't seen other worlds.

Except each day, a little more of that light, that creative spark that appreciated the boundaries that Pepper saw and then surpassed them, dimmed. It wasn't just the pale skin, or the too-thin frame, or the way Loki's eyes darted when he was startled. It wasn't because his irises were sprinkled with blue for the last few visits. It wasn't even the god's hands shaking when he reached out to touch machines or flick through Tony's drafts on the holoscreen. It was the way he stayed close, the way he hovered near Tony. He would walk away, sure, walk around the lab and study and tinker. Except he always came back, like a fishing lure being reeled in, and Tony found himself slammed with a painfully poignant heartache. He doesn't know how else to describe it. His chest hurt, literally hurt, and watching Loki zone out, his hands twitching and flaring with power before he snapped back to the present and inched, very slowly, closer to Tony, like he didn't want him to notice, just made him work faster because he knows something is broken, and he wants desperately to fix it. That's what Tony Stark does. He makes innovative, and dangerous, and sexy, and he fixes things and makes them better.

He hasn't seen Loki in about 24 hours, and that worries him, especially because he doesn't have a way to contact the god. Loki always just showed up and left when he wanted to, and Tony doesn't have the luxury of creating wormholes at his will, so he suits up, the chain hidden carefully in a compartment of his chest plate. He makes his way across the darkened city to Loki's loft.

He thinks one of the windows is open as he nears the building, but realizes that it's actually broken. Tony lands heavily on the wooden floor— there's the glass, cracking beneath his boots— and looks around with a sinking feeling in his gut. The apartment is trashed. The sofa is singed, the tables are knocked over or splintered, and the lamp is on it's side on the floor, casting long, ominous shadows across the room. Most of the books look like they were ripped from their places on the shelves and flung across the room. Scraps of paper litter the floor and furniture.

"Loki?" Tony calls, slowly making his way through the living room. He finds more scorch marks on the walls and even on the high ceiling. He walks up the stairs, repulsors charged, and checks the bathroom— nothing but more damage and some droplets of blood on the tile— and then walks into the bedroom.

Loki sits on the floor, but his head and arms are draped inelegantly across the bed, which is smoking in a few places. The furniture in this room has suffered similarly to the rest of the apartmen; the expertly carved bed posts and matching chest are splintered and burnt, the floor is singed, the curtains are all but ripped from the window. Tony hardly cares because Loki, even though he's still breathing, has blood dripping down his face and he's as white as a sheet.

He pulls off his gauntlets and raises his faceplate as he makes his way to the god. Loki's eyes flutter open and he smiles blandly. His irises are blue.

"Stark," he rasps. "What perfect timing you have. Do you plan these things?"

"What the hell happened?" Tony demands, and then looks at Loki's hands.

The god's fingertips are stained red, and coagulated blood and torn skin are caked under his nails. Tony reaches out and pushes the god's hair away from his face. He lets out a shaky breath when he sees what can only be claw marks curling around the Loki's hairline and temples. He doesn't need to ask what happened because a pretty clear picture is formed in his mind, and he wonders what else Loki would have done to himself if he hadn't shown up before the god got his strength back.

"Why didn't you come to me?" Tony snaps and stands long enough for the suit to fold away.

Loki just watches him with a bemused, tired smile.

Tony considers railing on him because he does well with his own self destruction, but functions with others' about as well as Steve does when Tony goes on one of his whiskey benders. He swallows down the bitter frustration, though. Loki's smiling, but there's something else lingering beneath the surface, and he doesn't know if he wants to coax it out. "Can you stand?" he asks instead.

Loki seems to be fading, eyes rolling back, so Tony just slips a hand under the god's arm and hoists him up. Loki groans and then laughs, and Tony can feel energy crawling across the god's skin through his clothes. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and something about it makes him shiver. An alarm in his head is telling him to get his fucking suit back on and get someone more capable to handle this, someone responsible like Steve, or understanding of magic like Thor, but he just holds Loki tighter and drags him along.

"You're really fucking heavy for such a skinny son of a bitch," he grunts.

"You should go," Loki manages as they pass the threshold of the bedroom, the laughter gone. "You need to go, Stark. I am still unstable despite your presence. I fear I am too far gone."

"Yeah, good fucking luck making that happen," Tony mutters and steers the god to the bathroom. He lowers Loki to the edge of the tub and turns on the tap, one hand still on the god's shoulder because he's afraid Loki will take a dive into the porcelain. When the water is warm, he soaks one of the hand towels hanging on a rack above the toilet and stands between Loki's knees. "Tilt your head back."

Loki chuckles but does as he's told. Tony grabs Loki's chin to stabilize his head and gently wipes the blood away. The lacerations are jagged and surprisingly deep. Tony doesn't want to think about how much physical force Loki would have had to extort to do that much damage.

"You seem disappointed, Stark," Loki says quietly, and then grins, pale, chapped lips curving manically. "You mortals develop attachments quite quickly. Tell me, would you be disappointed if I had managed to kill myself?"

Tony rolls his eyes and tries to wipe some of the blood caked in Loki's hair. "I'm not designating that with a response."

Loki makes a delighted sounds in the back of his throat. "You would, then?" He licks at his lips. "How fascinating."

Except the god doesn't sound fascinated. He sounds almost… pissed. Tony raises an eyebrow. "Got something on your mind you want to share with the class?"

"You took your time creating me my own device," Loki says thoughtfully, but there's a sharp edge to each word. "Even a god can only remain at a precipice for so long before he is urged to fall." He clucks his tongue. "I assume you knew what you were doing, however. I have seen your blueprints. Such planning, such detail. And you do have such impeccable timing."

Tony hears it in Loki's voice, the accusation and the bitterness, and he hates that it stings. He lowers his hand and cocks his head, trying to stay calm, to not feed into the delusion, because he knows all of this isn't Loki. "I'm sorry, but what are you trying to imply?"

Loki shrugs. He doesn't need to speak. The simple jerk of his shoulder says everything.

Tony sighs. He feels heavy all of a sudden, like he could sleep for years. "Oddly enough, I'm not really in the mood for your fun word games. I haven't slept in probably fifty hours."

"Poor you." The purred words border on a snarl.

Tony ignores it. "Really, though, you should have come to me if it was getting bad, Loki. You can teleport, for fuck's sake. It's pure luck that I got here when I did."

"Is it, though?" Loki asks and gives Tony that look from beneath his lashes.

"Stop implying that I'm— what is it you think I'm doing? Fucking with you?"

"Are you not?"

"No," Tony says with a grit of his teeth.

"You should have stayed in your little workshop," Loki spits.

"What, you want me to leave you here to kill yourself?"

Tony regrets asking the question the second it's out of his mouth. He meant it as a joke because he sees Loki as the surviving type. Except Loki, for all his measured speech and leering looks, jerks ever so slightly and his eyelashes lower, but it's enough of a tell. Tony kneels down and puts a hand on the god's knee. "Loki, listen to me—"

"I do not need you," Loki snarls suddenly, jerking away from Tony's touch, and almost slips on the edge of the tub.

"Okay, well, then," Tony says as he stands, but he gets cut off—again— as Loki stands. They're toe to toe, almost chest to chest, but Tony has to crane his head back to meet the god's eyes. They're still blue, but there's an iridescence about them that wasn't there before, and it makes Tony's heartbeat pick up very, very quickly.

"If you kill me, you don't get your present," Tony says, because he isn't sure anything else he could think up with diffuse Loki's anger.

It doesn't work. Loki narrows his eyes and he hisses out breath from between his clenched teeth. "You think gifts will persuade me to spare your life?"

"Lighten up," Tony starts to say, but the last syllable is garbled when Loki curls his fingers around Tony's shoulders and pushes him backwards. Tony stumbles, and his elbow hits the door hard enough that he gaps before his weight causes it to slams shut behind him. He looks back up into Loki's eyes when his back is pressed flat against the wood.

The god's eyes are like the center of a flame, blue and turbulent, and Tony thinks he's probably fucked. They're both fucked, and he was too late. He's surprised by the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest.

"Lighten up?" the god repeats, teeth bared. "You wish me to lighten up? Shall I show you what it would be like if I were to lighten up, Stark? Shall I show you what I looked like before you deigned to bless me with your presence?"

Tony isn't really sure what to expect, but he can't say he's surprised when Loki starts to glow the way he glowed the night Tony brokered their deal. He can feel the power burning through his body suit, except it isn't heat that's stinging him. It's cold, pure cold as startling as snow on bare skin.

Loki leans forward until the cool air wafting off of his skin makes Tony's breath come out in puffs of smoke. "I spend every moment," he grates, voice breaking, "every second controlling this. Do you understand the strain controlling such unstable energy does to its vessel? It compounds on top of the damage the Titan's hooks have done and continues to do, and I have unraveled, Stark. I continue to unravel."

Tony doesn't usually have sentimental urges. He usually has urges that result in sweaty tumbles in the bedroom, or that make Bruce turn big and green, or that make Pepper pull her pretty hair out. Hugging a super-charged super villain? No, not so much. Until right now. He doesn't, though. He's pretty sure Loki would dig his already bloodied fingers into Tony's eye sockets, or Tony's entire body would turn into an icicle.

Instead, he says, as gently as he can even though his heart is constricting so much it hurts, "Loki, power down."

Loki only burns brighter. "I cannot," he hisses. "Have you listened to nothing I've said?"

"I've listened." Tony takes a chance and grabs Loki's hand. His skin is freezing cold, but Tony forces himself not to jerk away. Loki's hand shakes, the fingers curling and uncurling like he can't control it, or like he can't decide if he wants Tony touching him, and he stares down at Tony like he's lost his mind. "I've listened," Tony repeats and places Loki's hand over the arc reactor.

Loki's entire body shudders and he slumps forward like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He rests his head against the door above Tony's shoulder and whispers, "You are impossible."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Tony replies and squeezes Loki's hand. "I want to help you. Let me help you."

"I fear I will not be alive long enough for you to do so," Loki admits with a choked chuckle. "I do not jest, Stark. I may be too far gone. It is probably for the best. I imagine your Avengers would be thrilled to have another threat vanquished."

"Well, that isn't true." Tony pauses and adds, "Thor would probably die. I'm not kidding. I think he would starve himself, and with how much food he needs to function, I don't think it would take long. Plus, I kind of like you. You keep things interesting. So, how about you let me go get your present."

Loki lifts his head. The glow has faded, leaving him pale and drawn, and even though his irises are still blue, there's more of him in the gaze and less of the sharp edges of insanity. He nods, once, and steps back, far enough for Tony to slip out, open the door, and get to his suit in Loki's bedroom.

He sits on the bed to regulate his heart rate when he's sure Loki hasn't followed him. He isn't sure what's going on, but he thinks he probably needs to take a step back. Normally when he gets too wrapped up in someone else's life, it's a different kind of wrapped up. There's always a lot Tony selfishness weaved into the relationship, a lot of "Tony, don't do that. Tony, don't say that. Tony, don't poke unstable, gamma-radiated humans with pens."

This is different, though. He can't say why, but it is, and it scares him.

So he suits back up and retrieves the reactor, then heads back to the bathroom, except Loki isn't there. Panic almost takes hold of him, but the he hears something downstairs.

He finds the god in the living room. Loki stands in the center, surveying the damage. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, his face expressionless. He doesn't look at Tony as he descends the stairs in his Iron Man suit, just continues to study the room.

"So," Tony says and walks towards him, stopping about a foot away. "You made a bit of a mess."

Loki doesn't respond.

Tony holds out his gauntlet-free hand. The chain is looped around his fingers and the reactor dangles from it, swaying slightly from side to side. He watches Loki slowly turn his head to look at it. His face gives away nothing, but he reaches out and touches it gingerly, then curls his long fingers around it. The chain slips out of Tony's grip completely.

Loki still doesn't speak. He just stares down at the reactor, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn together.

"You don't owe me anything," Tony says, claps Loki on the shoulder once, then puts his gauntlet back on, trying to ignore the way the god jerks and shudders before finally glancing in Tony's direction.

"You are going then?" Loki asks quietly.

Tony shrugs. "This is it, right? The end of our partnership? I mean, you're welcome to visit anytime, but I feel like I've overstayed my welcome. Plus, you have some redecorating to do."

"Ah, yes," Loki murmurs, and something like disappointment flashes across his face, but it's gone before Tony is sure if he saw it or not.

"Let me know if it needs repairs," he calls as he makes his way to the broken window.

Loki doesn't speak, just stands there. A pang resonates in Tony's chest like a gong— it sounds a lot like disappointment— and he ducks his head so Loki doesn't see it reverberate to his face. _Idiot_ , he thinks. _You fucking idiot, you're getting too involved_. "Take care."

There's still no reply, so he says, "Faceplate down, Jarv," and then takes off.

He gets back to the Tower and disassembles in a daze. He's still kind of wrecked over whatever the hell he was feeling, and he thinks it's probably good that the reactor is done and in Loki's hand. He doesn't need this kind of distraction, and while he never says no to a risky decision— much to Pepper's displeasure— he knows it would be a mistake to get any more entangled with their resident God of Mischief.

He gets to his floor and starts peeling off his body suit, but stops dead in his tracks when he walks into his room, the lights flare on, and Loki. Loki is standing there.

"JARVIS, seriously," Tony hisses. "What the hell."

"I thought you'd enjoy the surprise, Sir," JARVIS replies smugly.

Tony plasters a smile on his face and turns his attention to Loki. "Did you forget to kill me back at your place? Can we do it in the workshop? Easier clean up."

Loki takes a step forward. He is happy to see that the blood is gone from Loki's face and hair even though the red lacerations are still there, bright against his pale skin. And he looks tired. The dark circles beneath his eyes seem even more pronounced now that he's groomed and well dressed in a gray shirt and black slacks. A string of silver is just barely visible before it disappears beneath his collar. Tony can't help but feel a surge of warmth in his belly. He built it with the express purpose of giving it to Loki and stopping a nuclear explosion of body parts, but now it feels intimate, and that's the last thing he needs.

But, there's very little blue in his eyes. Tony gives himself a mental high-five.

"I did not come here to kill you," Loki says and takes another step forward.

"I mean, you kind of threatened it."

Loki turns his head to look out the window. "I was not myself."

"Yeah, I know. You look better, though. How do you feel?"

"It is quiet," Loki says, his facial expression softening. "The magic has calmed. I do not know if it will remain that way, but for now, it is within my control."

"I'm glad. I really am. I still don't get why you're here, though, if it's working."

The god's eyes travel back to Tony. "I came to express my thanks."

Tony blinks. "What?"

"Express my thanks," Loki repeats. "My gratitude, for what you have done for me."

"Oh." Tony scratches his beard. "Well, you're welcome, I guess. You could have sent an email."

Loki raises a brow. "I do not email."

"Of course you don't. You have a record player."

They stand there awkwardly for a few moments. Tony watches Loki, who's still and tense, his feet planted firmly as if he expects to be evicted from the spot, and Loki watches Tony the way he expects someone would watch a jack-in-the-box that's been wound up.

"Do you—"

"Thank you, Stark," Loki interrupts. "Anthony. I am grateful for your help."

"You're welcome," Tony replies, gentler than he anticipated. Loki blinks, surprised, but Tony starts walking forward and wiggles his other arm out of the bodysuit. "Let me get changed. You want a drink? Have you ever had whiskey?"

Loki shakes his head slowly. "I have not."

"Well, you're in luck. I still owe you a drink from that time the Hulk decorated my floor with your face."

It's a bad idea. Tony's gonna do it anyway.


	4. Four

Tony spends the better part of forty-six hours fixing his suit after a rather brutal tiff with Hydra's resurgence leaves the Mark XXI in tatters. Most of the paint is scraped off, JARVIS is just a garble of words in his ears, three of the repulsors barely function, and the protective case covering his arc reactor is shattered. He's got other suits, but he stays up and repairs this one, his favorite one, because the still anger burns hot and heavy in his chest and he needs to do something. He's exhausted and his entire body aches from from the thrashing he received, but he pushes it aside and works because if he doesn't, he might just fall apart.

Seventeen, he repeats to himself as the sleep deprivation kicks in— he thinks he last slept about eighty-nine hours ago— and he makes another cup of coffee. Seventeen people lost. Seventeen civilians not going home to their families. A few of them were kids. Kids. They probably had Iron Man t-shirts and costumes at home, probably read the comic books that document the trials of the Avengers. It tears him up, leaves him raw and bleeding on the inside.

He never thought it would be like this, being a hero. Tony Stark has always been a selfish bastard. Steve is humble. Steve does it all for justice, for good, and Tony does, too, but only to a certain extent. He wants to help, wants to atone for the years that he helped kill civilians in deserts that were too far away to touch him. But mostly, he likes standing in front of the cameras, likes being able to say "I'm Iron Man" and have the crowd roar.

Except it's different now, and he wonders when it stopped being mostly about fame and power and more about being a good man. He wishes it would go back to how it was before he was willing to launch himself into some portal with a nuke if it meant saving the people he cared about most.

"You look positively awful," a lithe voice says from behind him.

Over-caffeinated and on edge, Tony jumps and drops his portable soldering iron. He almost burns himself, but has the presence of mind to pull his hands back before there's hot-metal-to-skin contact, and it just clatters against the metal worktable instead. With a curse, he picks it up and cleans the tip on a wet sponge before setting it in on it's stand, then he spins in his stool and glares at the god, chest heaving up and down to accommodate his heart, which is thudding in his chest.

"Some warning, maybe?" he snaps.

Loki tilts his head and raises a brow, and then he grins wide enough that lines crinkle the corners of his eyes.

The anger deflates and Tony sags back against the worktable.

"I hate you."

"You dare speak lies to the God of them?" the god replies smugly.

"Oh, god, not this again," Tony grumbles.

As annoyed as he is, he's used to this now. It's been two months since he finished the arc reactor amulet, and Loki took the drink invitation the night of their gift exchange as an invitation to once again appear in Tony's personal space whenever he wanted. He does. A lot. And honestly, Tony doesn't mind. Loki is either intellectually stimulating company or very quiet company, but never high-maintenance.

Except that this new Loki, the one who isn't try to kill him and seems to kind of like him, is a huge, mischievous pain in the ass. He particularly likes to startle Tony. Sometimes that means appearing at the worst possible moment, usually when Tony is wrist-deep in a particularly fragile project. Sometimes that means making his tools or parts disappear from Tony's hands and reappear in Loki's so the god can study them and offer his two cents. Sometimes it means the god's weight dipping Tony's mattress to the side so he's jostled awake when he's only just gotten to sleep.

It usually makes Tony grin, because he's a prankster in his own right, but today he's in too deep, swallowed whole by the anxiety and the hate, and he can't handle it.

Loki can tell, he thinks, because as the god walks towards him, his smile falls away and leaves a blank expression that Tony's gotten used to. He sees it settle into place whenever the god feels anything aside from anger or glee, which isn't often, but Tony recognizes it all the same. Tony isn't sure what the god's feeling now. Not until he reaches forward and touches his cool fingertips to the dark, nasty bruise that's blossomed across Tony's left shoulder.

Tony's stomach twists at the contact and he swallows, mouth dry. "You should go."

"You should not be working," Loki says simply, tone unreadable. His fingers press more firmly into the bruise and he frowns when Tony winces. "You are injured and have not slept."

"I'm fine," Tony begins.

Loki cuts him off sharply. "You are not fine."

Tony doesn't look up at the god, just stares at the jut of collarbone that peeks out from Loki's shirt. The first two buttons are undone, and he should be able to see the glint of silver, but he doesn't. He hasn't seen a sign of the arc reactor he gifted the god since the night of their gift exchange. He knows it's there. Loki's eyes are green, but even if they weren't, the god looks good. He's not as sickly pale, not as gaunt, not as unsteady.

Tony wants to ask how, wants to know how Loki can just make things that are there seem like they're not— something magically similar to the tech they use for the helicarriers now, he assumes— but he doesn't ask. He knows it's working, and that's the most important thing. Working tech means their neighborhood god of chaos isn't going to blow up in the middle of the city.

"Stark?" Loki asks, and the concern cuts into his voice.

Tony clears his throat and finally cranes his head back, aware that Loki's fingers are still grazing the tender skin of shoulder. He smiles wanly. "This isn't a good time, Loki."

"According to you, it is never a good time," the god replies with a shrug. He doesn't remove his fingers.

"I'm being serious. It really isn't a good time."

Loki's frown deepens. "Indeed, you are correct. It is a very bad time for you to be working. You need rest to heal your sad, mortal body. Jarvis, how long has he been awake?"

"Coming on four days, Mr. Laufeyson," Jarvis says, speaking for the first time in hours—maybe days. The AI knows better than to poke and prod when Tony is in one of his moods.

Loki, apparently, hasn't quite figured that out yet. Or if he has, he just doesn't care. Tony's betting on the latter.

The god raises a brow. "Mortals are not meant to go so long without sleep. I have read that insanity begins to set in by the third day of sleeplessness."

Tony shrugs. "Well, thankfully I'm already insane, so I've got nothing to worry about."

"You are being an imbecile."

"If I wanted to be chastised, I'd have asked Pepper to come over," Tony says in a clipped tone.

"I am not chastising. I am merely making an observation of your health and recommending a course of action based upon it."

"You're not my doctor."

"You were not mine," Loki shoots back, tone just as sharp, "but that did not stop you from inserting yourself into my life and attempting to fix my pains."

"First, I didn't invite myself into your life. You invited me by going super nova in my goddamned city. And attempting?" Tony snaps, and it comes out more like a sneer. "Pretty sure I completed that task. You're all shiny and new."

Loki's voice lowers dangerously. "What do you call them? Band-aids, I believe?"

"Now you're just being a dick," Tony hisses and slaps his hand away. "I don't need you to give me orders on how to be a functioning human being. Send Steve up, sure. You, though? Sorry, Ice Princess, but you aren't a pot and I'm sure as hell not a fucking kettle."

When he starts to spin back around, Loki steps forward, effectively locking Tony's legs between his own in what would be a straddle if he moved a few inches forward. He grabs Tony's chin none-too-gently and forces him to look up. Tony almost expects to see blue shining back at him, but Loki's eyes are green. Green and angry.

Tony laughs, he can't help himself. Loki just stares down at him, black hair falling over this shoulders in messy waves, and he's fucking beautiful. It only pisses Tony off more because he's filthy— covered in dirt, dried blood, and grease, scratched and bruised— and he thinks, fuck it, and allows the anger to bubble up. Loki seems like the best possible target. Loki can handle it. He's not breakable, far from it. Tony can't say the same about himself at the moment.

"What the hell is this?" he asks. "You're not really the caring type, are you?"

"For you I may be," Loki snarls back.

Tony feels like he's been punched in the gut.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? he thinks wildly. The words are like sandpaper, forced out and rough, almost rusty, so he knows they're true. It seems like it takes Loki a moment to realize what he's said, but Tony can pinpoint the exact millisecond it hits him. The very palest of pink tinges colors Loki's cheekbones, and if it were any other day, Tony would latch onto it. He's wanted to drag the god down to his level and see what Frost Giants taste like for weeks. He could do it, and he thinks Loki would respond in kind. Of course, neither of them have said anything. Since the arc reactor, Loki's been more quiet about his feelings, and Tony gets it. The threat to his sense of self was present and real, and now there's no danger, no fear that he's going to succumb to someone else's control. He's got no reason to spill his guts, no reason to make himself weak and vulnerable by admitting that he wants something.

Except Loki's basically saying something now, and it's the worst goddamned possible time.

Tony's done it before, thrown himself into relationships when he's the most self destructive he can be, and all the dynamite he plans to use on himself always disintegrates the relationship, too. And right now, he hates himself more than normal, wants to work himself to the bone until his calluses split open and his hands shake from caffeine and lack of sleep.

So, if the flush on Loki's cheeks means what he thinks it means, Tony's going to crush it before he has a chance to destroy his chances completely. He doesn't deserve a chance, not yet, not with seventeen things weighing him down. And it's a shame, because he wants Loki so badly his chest constricts and burns with it.

"Because I gave you some pretty jewelry?" he asks flippantly, finally. "I told you, I don't want anything back from you. I don't need payment, I just need you not to kill people. Pretty good trade off, if I say so myself."

Loki's eyes brighten and the air around them becomes denser. The hair on the back of Tony's neck stands on end and his skin crawls with the energy pulsing around him. For a second, Tony thinks Loki is going to roast him, but then the god exhales and it all fades as quickly as it flared. HIs grip on Tony's chin loosens and his thumb brushes just barely across Tony's lower lip.

"Stark," he says quietly, then, "Anthony."

Tony shakes his head vigorously, dislodging his thoughts. The first name basis thing doesn't happen often, but when it does, Tony gets weak in the romantic way, and he doesn't want that right now. He wants to work, needs it so he doesn't self destruct inside of his own head. He wraps his hand around Loki's wrist, pulling it away from his face. He's proud of himself, really.

"It's nothing personal today, Magic Mike," he says as gently as he can. "I just need some time to decompress. Alone."

"You saved more than you lost," Loki murmurs. "Many more than you lost, in fact."

Tony's eyes widen, heart stuttering to some arrhythmic beat in his chest. He hasn't said a word, but Loki knows, and Tony wonders if he came here on purpose, if the god had been waiting, as per usual, in his room and traveled down to the lab when he realized Tony was going to do what he normally does— work himself stupid.

"Not good enough," he grits out, and fuck, he feels like he's close to tears. The thought horrifies him and he raises his hands to Loki's chest and pushes. The god doesn't budge, so Tony is forced to duck his head. "Please get out."

"Anthony," Loki says again, all but whispers it.

Jarvis' voice makes them both jump.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I am sorry to interrupt, but there are some urgent and classified business matters Mr. Stark must attend to immediately."

It's a lie— Jarvis is programmed specifically not to interrupt him with business things unless Pepper is threatening mutiny— but Tony runs with it because he's a coward. "Duty calls. Time to make like a tree and get the hell out."

The silence is heavy, but then Loki says, "I see," and steps away. "I won't keep you then, Mr. Stark.

There's a flash of light, theatrical and meant to make a point, and then Loki is gone. Tony falls back against his worktable and exhales. "Thanks, Jarvis," he mutters.

"Of course, sir."

Tony remains draped with his spine curved unnaturally over the tabletop and arms handing limply at his sides until his neck starts to ache and sharp pains shoot through his vertebrae. When he sits up, he rolls his shoulders. "How about some tunes, Jarvis? Give me something loud."

He works for the next twelve hours, bouncing back and forth between projects when his attention starts to drift. He hurts so badly that at one point he plays some cat videos on the holoscreen to distract himself from the deep ache in his shoulder and then has Jarvis email them to the rest of the team. His favorite YouTube channel is named Catvengers, and his favorite kitten in the one in a tiny little Hulk outfit.

He doesn't think of Loki. He tries not to. He fails. Miserably.

Loki doesn't come around for a few days, and even though Tony is freaking the fuck out and worries that he fucked it all sideways, it's fine because Tony is thrown into a shit storm of damage control, and honestly, the god still puts the rest of his team on edge. Hell, he puts Tony on edge, and none f them need to be pushed any closer to the edge for fear that one of them will jump off because between the debriefs, press conferences, meetings with PR and lawyers and politicians, the Avengers are worn thin.

They're all used to bad press at this point, but they're also exhausted and maybe a little emotionally damaged and the media doesn't care about the fact that they saved over one hundred people from Hydra's little stunt even though a few died. Some of the reporting is brutal, meant to hurt, and it does. They all have pretty thick skin, except it gets to the point where everyone, even Natasha, is cracking a little. Bruce is so jittery by the end of the week that he secludes himself in his safe room with some of the Hulk's favorite snacks because he doesn't think he'll be able to stop Big Green from making a destructive appearance, and they don't need the bad press. Not now.

So when Pepper asks him to attend some non-profit black tie event, Tony tugs a suit over his bruises and goes. Good press, he repeats to himself over and over, and he smiles, and drinks, and dabbles in some small talk. Not surprisingly, he hates it all, so four whiskeys in, he charmingly disentangles himself from the group he's been pulled into and finishes his drink at the bar alone. When he's done, instead of going home with the leggy blonde who's been at his heels all night, he allows Happy to pick him up and drive him back to the Tower even though he drove himself to the event.

He's not sure the last time he was so tired he decided sleep was better than getting laid. He doesn't remember the last time he let Happy drive him anywhere, either.

"Midlife crisis, sir?" Happy asks, deadpan.

Tony just rolls his eyes.

Back at the tower, he ignores the pile of Avengers crowded on the couch in the common area watching Taken 3 and heads towards the elevator. It's just past midnight, and he thinks he might actually call it a night so he can add to the growing list of things Tony Stark never does.

Thankfully, he's saved from himself. Loki's sitting on his balcony with his feet on the rail and a glass of scotch in his hand. With a sigh, Tony loosens his tie and shrugs out of his jacket before pouring himself a glass and joining the god. Loki doesn't look at him, even though Tony sees the corner of his lips quirk upwards.

He almost drowns in the relief that floods him.

"I invite you over for drinks once and you take that as an invitation to drink my best booze?" Tony manages to speak nonchalantly as he leans against the railing. It's nice outside, just the slightest chill, and the city is a blanket of lights across the darkness. He feels soothed, being so high up, and some of the stress of the day melts away.

"You seem well," Loki says, twirling his glass so that the amber contents splash against the sides of the tumbler. "Much more yourself."

Tony shrugs and takes a drink from his own glass. "As well as can be expected." The god doesn't respond, nor does he look at Tony, not yet, still staring past him at the expanse of city lights. Tony takes a step to his right, his hip brushing against Loki's crossed ankles, and leans until he's staring Loki straight in the face. "Were you worried about me? That's so sweet."

Loki arches an eyebrow, the rest of his face impassive. "Not particularly."

"You sure? This seems a bit mother hen to me."

Loki's smile is scathing. "I assure you, I mother hen no one."

Tony purses his lips. "Not worried about me, then? That's disappointing."

"Why ever would you be disappointed in such a thing?"

Tony takes a drink to avoid answering the question, mostly because he's surprised that Loki managed to sound so sickly sweet and knowing, and then says, "Because."

Loki just stares at him.

Tony shrugs. "What can I say. I'm a man of few words."

Loki's stony expression cracks and a grin splits his face. "I have heard nothing more untrue spoken in any realm in the millennia I have lived, Stark."

"That sounds more like me, I guess," Tony says, smiling as well. "What are you doing here? It's late. Don't gods need to sleep, too?"

The god smirks. "I find it humorous that you would worry about my sleep patterns, and I do not need sleep, and I was told once by your Captain Rogers that it is pathetic and sad to drink alone."

"Steve would say that," Tony mumbles. "So, you came here for a drinking partner?"

"I came here to offer you one," Loki responds and takes a sip from his glass.

Tony snorts. "How did you know I'd need one? Other than I am always drinking, I guess."

"You were at a social event, were you not? If I have learned anything of you over the last few months, Stark, it is that you abhor such things."

It's Tony's turn to stare.

Loki narrows his eyes. "What is it?"

Tony clears his throat, shrugs, and pushes off of the rail. He thinks his cheeks might be hot, and he's completely prepared to blame it on the alcohol. "Nothing."

Loki lowers his legs as Tony passes by him. There's a loud scrape of metal against concrete as the chair is moved and then, "Stark, what—"

Fuck it, he thinks, and turns to face the god before he reaches the balcony door. He's been thinking about this, whatever it is they have, since he ended his tirade of self-flagellation and sleep deprivation, and he's tired of pussyfooting around it. His heart rate picks up when Loki stops just shy of barreling into him, and the remaining scotch in his glass sloshes onto his hand. Loki wrinkles his nose, but doesn't move to clean it up.

"You know what," Tony says, angling his chin up.

He thinks the daring tone will make Loki fluff up his feathers. Instead, Loki seems to tense up like a goddamned whipcord. He doesn't think it's possible for Loki to be any more tense. His entire body is rigidly straight and his hand is wrapped around the glass so tightly his knuckles are white and Tony worries it will shatter.

"I do not," Loki says. "Enlighten me."

"Tell me why you're here." Tony holds up a hand and stop Loki from replying immediately. "No, hear me out. Tell me why you're here. It's late, and somehow you knew I'd be grumpy and drunk because somehow you knew I was at a party. And you know, somehow, that I fucking hate those kinds of parties. So tell me, Loki, why you're here."

Loki's eyebrows draw together and his lips part in surprise, forming a vaguely injured expression that makes Tony's heart jump into his throat. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't. Loki is nothing if not a survivor, but unlike Tony, who will wear it all on is sleeve and dare people to comment, Loki tucks it all away. Physical, emotional— Tony gets that the god sees it all as weakness. An invisible hand smoothes away the frown and the wrinkles until the god is back to his alabaster statue expression, calm, collected, and uninviting.

"I was of the impression that we were friends. I apologize if I was mistaken."

Tony thinks he might bang his head against the wall until he breaches his skull and dashes his brains across the off-white paint. Pepper would be super pissed, though, so instead he turns and walks back into the tower because he needs another drink right now.

He pours himself another gratuitous glass of scotch, except when he goes to take a drink the glass disappears before it reaches his mouth. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, takes a deep breath and holds it while he counts to five like Bruce taught him, and turns back around. Loki, standing near the table, sets both glasses down and walks towards Tony.

"Listen," Tony says warily as the god approaches, "I'm tired. I'm slightly drunk. I'm still in this suit, and I hate this suit. Pepper likes it, so she sometimes sends all my other suits to the dry cleaners so I have to wear it. I taught her well. Anyway, let's call it a night and try this again some other time."

"I cannot aid you with either of the former issues," Loki says diplomatically, and he doesn't stop advancing until he's less than a foot from Tony. "I can, however, rid you of your suit."

Tony blinks. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You wish for me not to dance around the issue any longer, do you not?" the god says and takes another step forward— slowly, as if he's testing the waters. "I've enjoyed teasing you. However, you are in luck, Anthony Stark. I have never enjoyed dancing."

Before Tony can respond, Loki's hands are on either side of his face, and the god's lips are on his. Tony freezes for about two seconds before he grips the Loki's hips and hauls him forward until they're pressed together. The gesture makes Loki groan into his mouth and Tony isn't too proud to admit that his knees go a little bit weak at the sound.

Loki pulls away only to immediately grab Tony's hair and force him to crane his head back so the god can lick a trail up his throat.

"Why did we wait this long?" Tony asks, breath hitching as Loki's teeth scrape against his Adam's apple.

"There was a conflict of interest," Loki murmurs against his skin, and one of his hands presses over the arc reactor before sliding down to grip Tony's hip. "And then I was not sure if you were merely being your pandering self, or if the interest on your part was true."

Tony sucks in a breath, hips aching forward, as Loki presses a knee between his legs.

"I have come to the conclusion that it is not merely pandering, however."

"Good deduction, Watson," Tony groans.

Loki grins wolfishly and sucks a mark into the sensitive skin behind Tony's ear.

They awkwardly maneuver themselves through Tony's suite and towards his bedroom while tugging off each other's clothes. Loki is rough and needy until he finally has Tony naked on the bed, and then he has a chance to survey the remnants of the Hydra battle. Tony's torso is like an abstract painting of green and purple with a few healing slashes of red thrown in for good measure.

"You are so fragile," Loki murmurs.

Even though the way the god is trailing his fingers down Tony's stomach makes him shiver, he bristles. "I'm not some package of glassware."

Loki's lips quirk into a smirk. "No, you are not. The fact that you have survived this long despite your penchant for danger is amazing in and of itself."

Tony arches up into the touch with a breathy, "I'm pretty amazing."

"Ah, yes." The god leans down, dark hair spilling over one shoulder, and brushes his lips against Tony's. "I know it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! This chapter took me forever and a day to write, and honestly, I'm still not thrilled with it, but eh. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos are fantastic. I love you all.


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